


Leave A Mark

by YoursTruly (Lyscey)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Come play, Comeplay, Consensual Infidelity, Dirty Talk, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyscey/pseuds/YoursTruly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He loves John always, an abiding affection he’s never felt for another human being in his life, but John like this: dirty, used, and still gleefully offering himself up for more, all for Sherlock’s pleasure…"<br/>Porn without plot for Poppy <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave A Mark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoppyAlexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/gifts).



> This is a short and sweet bit of Johnlock smut requested by PoppyAlexander (fuckyeahfightlock) on my Tumblr (call-me-yt). It is unbeta'd or Brit-picked. 
> 
> Poppy asked for: “One of our men (at first I thought John, but maybe Sherlock because of deductions blah blah blah…either way, it’s all good) gets off on the other one coming home with other mens’ cum inside and/or on him.” 
> 
> Sweet Christ. 
> 
> This story contains: Explicit sex, rimming, consensual infidelity, dirty talk, and come play. This is 100% porn with no redeeming value whatsoever (unless you consider the fact that they love each other redemptive). If I still had a sense of shame, I would be embarrassed by everything that’s happening here. If any of that is not your thing, please don’t continue reading.
> 
> If all of that is your thing, you’ve come to the right place. 
> 
> I hope this is what you had in mind, darling. Enjoy! I owed you one anyway.

Sherlock’s attention is drawn fully and immediately, as it always is, to John as he begins climbing the stairs up to 221B. His gait is off, and Sherlock realizes the intermittent shuffle and dull tapping can only mean one thing: John is using his cane.

It’s a startling thought. Why would John be using his cane? Did John even have the cane when he left earlier? In point of fact, Sherlock’s not sure how long John’s been gone. Foolish not to note the times of John’s comings and goings. He’ll do it from now on.

There are only three possibilities for why John would be walking with the cane he hasn’t needed in three years. Either he’s had a serious post traumatic stress episode that Sherlock is unaware of, he’s somehow legitimately damaged his knee in the course of his day, or he’s shamming. When John appears on the landing and steps into the sitting room, smiling, Sherlock looks him over once and comes to another frustrating conclusion.

John _is_  shamming. His posture is all wrong; leaning heavily on the cane from his shoulder, hips held delicately while he continues to bend both knees as if they’re working just fine. He’s obviously unaware he’s doing it, chatting at Sherlock about no available seats on the tube and the long, chilly walk up the street; making excuses for the cane, now. He knows he’s never fooled Sherlock. What is he playing at?

Sherlock decides to play along. He plasters his best soppy, love sick smile on his face, lowers his shoulders and tilts his face up in clear demand of a kiss. John snorts a little laugh but looks pleased, in himself or the plea Sherlock can’t be sure, and hobbles clumsily over to oblige. He makes it most of the way to Sherlock’s chair before the minute details combine with an extremely distinctive smell to set off a cascade of serotonin, dopamine, and epinephrine in Sherlock’s brain.

He’s out of the chair, knocking the cane from John’s hand, and pressing his face to the inseam of John’s jeans in the space of a breath.

“Damn it. You knew the minute I walked in here didn’t you?”

“Knew you were hiding something. Didn’t put it together until you got close enough to smell, though. Where is it John? Show it to me.”

John looks at him with an affectionate, indulgent expression on his face. He strokes Sherlock’s hair and says, laughter in his voice, “If you’re so smart, why don’t you find it?”

Sherlock undoes John’s belt and flies completely without finesse, and yanks his trousers down so hard John has to steady himself on Sherlock’s shoulders to avoid falling. He’s at the perfect height like this to be confronted by John’s erection, thick and flushed, standing straight out from his body. Sherlock’s mouth fills with saliva and he has to swallow so he doesn’t drool when he says, “You didn’t let him make you come.’

John shakes his head, still smiling fondly down at Sherlock. “I was saving it for you.”

Sherlock makes a noise that can only be described as a growl and begins running his hands up and down John’s thighs, the backs of his knees, over his hips and groin. “Christ, John. I love this. You know how I love this. You know what it does to me. Show it to me, John. Let me see it.”

John takes Sherlock’s face in both strong hands and holds him still while he takes a step back. He toes off his shoes and steps out of the tangle of trousers and pants. Maintaining eye contact with Sherlock, he backs slowly toward his chair, sits down, and slouches until his arse his hanging just slightly off the seat. He spreads his legs and fondles himself lightly for a moment, before lifting his balls in one cupped hand toward his stomach so Sherlock can get a good look at his slick and open hole.

Sherlock’s breath catches in his chest. “You let him fuck you. That’s why you were using the cane. An exaggerated limp to hide the subtle one from the soreness.” Sherlock shudders. “He was inside you.”

“He used a condom.”

“Of course he used a condom. Those are the rules, that’s not the point. You let him fuck you, spend himself somewhere on your body so you could rub it into your skin, and you didn’t come so you could arrive home loose, and wanting, and covered in cum for me to enjoy.”

John beams. “I know how to turn you on. I love giving you this. If you could see the look on your face-”

“Where is it John? Tell me now because I’m about to fuck you so hard you won’t remember when I’m finished. I’m going to make you feel so good even I don’t have the vocabulary to adequately describe it. I’m going to make you come and spread it over his mark on you, then leave my own on top of that. I want to keep you in that chair until it dries on you like a second skin and I can smell it, and touch it, and flake it off with my fingernails for the rest of the night. Show me where his cum is.”

John lets out a shaky breath and his hands tremble just slightly as he unbuttons his shirt from the bottom up. He sits up to shed the fabric from his shoulders and in the shifting light Sherlock can clearly see the translucent shine of dried semen smeared over John’s collar bones and chest, all the way out to the bullet scar on his left shoulder.

Sherlock is overcome. He can’t breathe. He loves John always, an abiding affection he’s never felt for another human being in his life, but John like this: dirty, used, and still gleefully offering himself up for more, all for Sherlock’s pleasure… John like this is an idol worthy of worship. Sherlock crawls to him on hands and knees so he can press the bridge of his nose hard to John’s perineum and place the flat of his tongue over the entrance to John’s body. They both moan as it flutters against Sherlock’s mouth. He’s happy John finds this pleasurable, but really he does it because he likes the taste of latex that lingers on John’s skin after an encounter with a stranger. His eyelids flutter closed with the shear bliss of it and his prick throbs in his pants. Saliva rushes into his open mouth again and he licks as much of it as he can into and around John’s hole before twisting two fingers in. John is soft and yielding and fairly mewls when Sherlock hooks his fingers toward his prostate.

“You are ready for me, aren’t you? How long have you been waiting, hmm?”

“A- About an hour. Left work early to meet him so I wouldn’t be late getting home. Had to go a few tube stops -  _hngh_  - out of the way to get to the hotel he wanted to meet at.”

“A rendezvous with a stranger from the internet. Scandalous,” Sherlock praises.

“God bless smartphones,” John agrees, breathless. Then, “Jesus, Sherlock, _come on_.”

Sherlock undoes his trousers and frees his erection with the hand not otherwise engaged inside John, who makes an extremely gratifying noise as he watches Sherlock spit directly down onto his own prick.

“Now who’s scandalous? Libertine,” John accuses, fondly.

“Enabler,” Sherlock replies, lifting one of John’s calves to rest on his shoulder, and swiftly thrusting in to the hilt.

He sets a brutal pace from the beginning, quick and deep and aimed at the over-sensitive bundle of nerves, designed with one thing in mind: make John come spectacularly. Sherlock loves to watch as the flush creeps over John’s neck and chest, his mouth the constant ‘O’ of pleasure so overwhelming he’s practically catatonic, until he comes with such strength his eyes roll back in his head. Just as Sherlock hoped, the first thick jet of cum lands neatly to the right of John’s suprasternal notch, the next near his small, peaked nipple, and a third in the dip right under his heaving rib cage.

Sherlock allows himself a moment to enjoy the deep, rhythmic pulsing of John’s orgasm, before pulling himself from the hot clutch and shuffling back slightly. He grasps his prick tightly and strokes, his fist gliding smoothly over saliva and someone else’s faintly sticky silicone lube. It’s exquisite.

John says, “Yes. That’s it sweetheart. Come on me.”

With a deep and satisfying moan, Sherlock does; directly onto John’s stomach and softening cock. Some of it even slides over his sweat-slicked skin and pools in his navel. Sherlock stares at it while his heart rate slows and his breath returns. He’s vaguely aware of John looking on, amused at Sherlock’s rapt expression, as he places both hands, fingers splayed wide, on John’s belly and runs them up and down over the prone man’s hard chest, smearing both their cum together all over John’s torso.

John looks like an offering to some ancient, hedonistic god. Debauched. Spent. Beautiful. Sherlock wants to offer him prayers, but he doesn’t know any. Instead, he says, “I love you,” to the general vicinity of John’s heart.

“I love you, too,” John replies. After a moment he asks, “You weren’t serious, right? About staying here until this all dries? Sherlock?”

John starts to sit up when he gets no reply, but Sherlock holds him down with a hand on his sternum and gently digs his fingertips in so that, as he drags them down John’s front, the cooling semen collects under his fingernails.


End file.
